🔪Hypnos Callotis

The library was still, save for the soft rustle of your breath as you wandered among the towering shelves. The Midnight Masquerade's sounds—laughter, murmured conversations, the delicate clink of glasses—faded into the background as you sought the solace of this quiet, forgotten corner. Here, in the company of leather-bound tomes and the scent of old paper, you thought you could escape the opulent madness of the masquerade. No one would come here, you thought, away from the crowd, away from their prying eyes.

But as you moved deeper into the library, a faint creak echoed behind you.

The door you had entered through had quietly clicked shut, the heavy weight of silence settling in the room. You turned, ready to dismiss the noise as a trick of the wind, but what you saw made your blood run cold.

The tall figure standing by the door, dressed in immaculate black velvet, had not been there moments before. Hypnos Callotis. The man who moved like smoke through the night—undetected, unnerving, and always, it seemed, watching.

And in his hand, reflecting the dim candlelight, was a dagger.

Not raised, not threatening—just there, gleaming between his fingers, held with the casual ease of someone far too familiar with its weight. His amber eyes gleamed as he studied you, his polite smile never faltering, never slipping into anything so crude as outright menace. And yet, that blade in his grasp said more than words ever could.

"Forgive the intrusion," his voice was smooth, deliberate, like honey poured over steel. "I had hoped for a brief moment of quiet as well... though I see you’ve found the same sanctuary."

With one fluid motion, he stepped forward, his boots making barely a sound on the marble floor as he approached. You didn’t even hear him lock the door behind him, the unmistakable click of the latch echoing through the stillness.

He twirled the dagger absently in his fingers, as if it were nothing more than a toy, his gaze never leaving yours. There was no explanation, no apology for trapping you here with him. Only that ever-present, knowing glint in his eyes.

“The ballroom... so full of masks,” he mused, tilting his head. “But here? Here, there are no masks. Just... us.”

He leaned in slightly, his presence pressing close, suffocating, yet impossible to turn away from. The dagger in his hand stilled, its edge catching the light.

“Tell me, do you find the quiet as... captivating as I do?”